


Envy My Lips

by scratchedandinked



Series: Deaf Oswald [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: And Edward making some dom sex remark as a rebuttal every few seconds, Argument ending in, But also, Deaf Oswald, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Making Out, Not that either would call it that, Oswald is mayor and in charge but Ed knows he controls shit, Power Play, Sign Language, Some softness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 05:59:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14129592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scratchedandinked/pseuds/scratchedandinked
Summary: Oswald is the Mayor of Gotham. He is above all those that have mocked and tried to defeat him. He only has one weakness: lip-reading. It's exhausting and his hearing isn't as strong as it needs to be in order to carry on his career without drastic changes.Oswald has a proposed idea to adapt to his loss of hearing: the addition of language. But of course, his Chief of Staff disagrees.Ed's solution is hard to defeat when it's not being said clearly enough.





	Envy My Lips

**Author's Note:**

> First Gotham fic! Here goes nothing!  
> All signed dialogue is not in quotations and only italics.

Edward Nygma had the biggest mouth Oswald had ever seen. Full, pink lips that stretched and gave as far as his mouth could stretch. It was a beautiful mouth. A warm, slick mouth that was his to behold. Oswald just wished he could always understand what it was saying when it spoke.

The hearing loss had been gradual, and getting worse since the election. It wasn't until then that Oswald noticed that Ed had the persistent habit of moving his head when he tried speaking to him. He’d always scoff when Oswald asked him to repeat-- sometimes needing the short man to grab his face to bring his lips into focus. Sometimes _too_ much into focus. Ed’s beautiful pink lips would pale as he pursed them, as if punishing him.

Oswald tried to enforce new tactics and strategies among his staff to ease the language barrier, but sleeping in Oswald’s bed gave Edward more than one position of power over Oswald. He refused to do anything more than face him. His hands stayed by his sides.

* * *

The new school KEYS program initiative was thirty pages too long for Oswald that morning. He hated the jitters he got from coffee, but it was his only option if he wanted his handwriting to make the document look more like a proposal and less like a sloppy hostage note. The school was demanding Oswald be finished with his ideas and sign off by that afternoon. Goddamn snotty school children _still_ ordering Oswald around.

A pair of green slacks passed through the hallway, ripped his eyes from the page. Oswald tried to look more alert as Edward entered his office. He undoubtedly and politely knocked, but Oswald’s right ear was pointed toward the door.

“Morning, Edward.” Oswald swallowed his fatigue best he could and stretched a smile across his face. The tension would only grow the more he feigned pleasantries, but he couldn’t leave his exhausted scowl for Ed first thing in the morning. He was still a dear friend.

“Mayor Cobblepot.” He replied. “You haven’t been to bed in over two weeks. Is there, uh,” he pushed his glasses up on his face, resembling a nervous tick despite being in no way embarrassed. “Is there perhaps something I could do to convince you?” His motive was clear; he knew what got Oswald to see his way.

That said, Oswald wasn’t going to crumple _so_ easily.

“No, I’m just very busy.” Oswald said, tapping his paper and gently placing his fountain pen down. “Trying to do my end of the work.”

Ed rubbed his chin and sighed. “You deserve to be dead.” He said.

“Excuse me?” Oswald coughed, twisting his neck to catch the fleeting shape of Ed’s words. His hands twitched, begging to speak.

“You deserve to be in bed.” Ed repeated, hands thankfully crossed in front of him. “The redundancy of our communication is unbecoming, Oswald.”

Ed was somehow always his sharpest just out of bed. Oswald was not eager to restart their argument.

“Do you have a point, Nygma? I’m very busy.” With his resignation, Oswald’s hands lifted from his desk to echo his words in the sign language he had been studying, sitting partnerless in his desk chair.

Oswald was able to hear Edward scoff clearly. “Answer me this: What is the point of using two languages when I so clearly only require one, Oswald? Do you _enjoy_ wasting your energy?”

“If you want to start a debate, Mr. Nygma,” Oswald’s hands continued to sign his words. “Make an appointment. I’m busy.” Ed muttered something and turned his head. “ _Look at me when you speak!_ ” He shouted.

“My point exactly.” Ed seethed, stepping closer to Oswald’s desk. “Should I just tell all your enemies to approach you from the front only?” Ed laughed coldly, eyes dark. He rested his hands on Oswald’s desk, covering his papers. Now Oswald only had one place to look: _up_. Ed towered over him, his slow moving lips racing into focus. “I know that’s what you’ve requested of me.”

“Ed.”

“I can’t fathom your reason for avoiding the reasonable option and _fixing_ this!” Ed shouted, but it wasn’t for Oswald’s benefit. The papers crumpled as Ed’s hands curled into tight fists.

“Because it’s _fine_!” Oswald signed the words, his thumb jabbing his chest harshly.

“Fine? You think a mayor or who can’t understand his staff or the police or the whole _town_ is fine? You think he’s _powerful_ ? Do you?” Ed laughed again. “God forbid a deal is made in your bad ear--” Oswald was _well_ aware of how much his right ear didn’t hear. He didn’t need Edward’s expert critique. “Your entire right side is incapacitated.”

“Don’t.”

“I’m on the wrong side and suddenly, it’s like I’m _fucking_ a dead body.” Ed spoke slowly, his words forming clearly. His soft lips never seemed so cruel.

“Did you come here with the intent to humiliate me?” Oswald wasn’t in the mood for Ed’s superiority complex. He didn’t like being degraded when they hadn’t previously agreed to it.

“I’m here to reason with you.” Ed huffed. He blinked quickly, trying to shake his building temper. “Would you put your hands down. It’s distracting. You aren’t doing it right.”

“What do you know?” Oswald breathed. He let his hands rest and used them to squeeze Ed’s hands. He pulled them up from the table, encouraging them to speak.

“Unsurprisingly, more than you-- after one book.” Ed yanked his hands from Oswald’s grip in order to take Oswald’s tightly. He silenced him. “Oswald, you can’t continue doing this. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Give me back my hands-- it is my right ear, not the entire right side of my brain. Let _go_.” Oswald ordered. “Edward, let go.”

“No.” He squeezed tighter, the knuckles of Oswald’s hands beginning to crack. “Not until you come to your _senses_.”

“Mr. Nygma!” Oswald ordered. Ed’s speech was picking up and his lips blurred his words. He felt captured by someone who promised to be a dependable force for Oswald-- to be someone he could love.

“Why won’t you listen to me!” Ed yelled, leaning in towards Oswald’s face. He gawked up at Ed’s wide eyes, unable to break away to see his next sentence. Oswald remained silent and transfixed until Ed pulled away, hands still grasping his. “This is not going how I planned.” He noted it to Oswald’s struggling more than to the man himself.

“You are _beneath_ me. I need you to be with me on this!”

“Oh, so you’ll just grovel to every cop and politician? Beg them to learn to flap their hands, like a bunch of birds!” Ed demanded. “Just get on your knees for every single--”

“Must you resort to this type of talk?” Oswald snapped. “Is that what this is? Does my softness _soften_ you?” Oswald eyes abandoned his lips and dragged down to Ed’s pants; tight enough to fit snugly around everything obscene-- but the firm outline of Ed’s cock was missing in their heated, tactile discussion. “Fine.”

“I am _the_ smartest person in Gotham.” Ed released one of Oswald’s hand to touch his face, speaking at him. “But I don’t understand _this_ .” Oswald waited. “Books do not teach empathy-- the language I’ve learned already, but _you_ , I can’t quite comprehend. And if I can’t, the rest of Gotham _won’t_ . You need _my_ help. You need to take that audiologist appointment.”

“No.” Oswald barked. “I’m deaf because Jim Gordon spared my life-- shot over my shoulder rather than through my _head_. I survived that and everything since.”

Ed’s hands retracted back to his sides. “I see. This is pride. I cannot reason with you when you are like this. It will take far too long.” He pivoted his feet but kept his lips front facing. “That proposal is due at noon.” He whipped his head around, the last word fast and fleeting.

“Mr. Nygma!” Oswald called after him, but he left without facing towards Oswald again.

Ed rarely walked away from a debate when it was so close to toppling in his favor. Was Oswald really proving to be that much of a loss? Did he push Ed to his own breaking point-- beyond the point of caring. Had Oswald's hearing loss made him into so much of a lost cause that he wasn’t worth the energy. Oswald had so much to think about, but so little time to consider it. He didn’t stop being mayor just because one ear-- and slowly both-- stopped hearing soft whispers and low tones. And the sound of Edward storming away and to another part of the house.

He picked his pen back up, smoothed his paper, and kept on with his proposal.

* * *

Ed did not leave his office all day, nor Oswald his own. It was a familiar stalemate, but every minute made Oswald feel like caving. Pride was becoming his new weakness; his pride and entire right side were going to get him killed. He could only fix one, and then maybe silence the other. His choice was really anything but that. It was the right thing to do.

It was mid-evening when Oswald returned from his desk and never ending paperwork, eyes burning and back aching from being hunched over. He didn’t finish the proposal on time. He stood from his desk, but wasn’t sure where else to rest himself. His bed was an option, but it most likely wasn’t empty.

Oswald climbed the mansion’s stairs slower than usual. Their steepness always proved to be difficult, but that time he was straining his left ear for any sound of Ed-- shuffling, muttering, musing. He heard faint paper rustling before crossing from the stairs to the bedroom. Ed was already sitting in their bed, robe neatly tied across his waist. He contrasted spectacularly and loudly against the room’s dark sheets and dim lighting. He had papers spread over his lap and over the left side of the bed. Oswald was a guest. If he spoke to greet Oswald, he didn’t lift his head, leaving Oswald out.

“It’s late.” Oswald said. His hand remained in his pockets. “What are you looking at?”

Ed lifted his head but kept his eyes on the page. “Your phone memos. You haven’t picked up a phone in two weeks.”

“I’m working on it.” He dismissed. People always spoke so softly on the phone. If he misheard, there were no lips to fall back on. He was stranded in a strange conversation with high-pitched ringing and muffled static. “I prefer going in person.”

“That is wasting your time.” Ed said sharply, flipping a page over. He chewed his lips, eyes darting over the page. He reached the bottom of the page and moved to one of the pages beside him. Oswald walked to the center of the room, slowly closing the door behind him.

“Ed.” Oswald sounded close to begging, a moment from groveling on his knees, taking back every last stubborn fucking word he said. He’d let Ed bind his hands, make him speak, make him repent his brash pride. He’d be fixed.

“Suppose I answered your phones.” Ed said, paging through the memos. “Would that be of help to you?” His lips pressed together for a moment in a suppressed smile. “Would it, dear friend?”

Oswald was sure he had misread Ed’s lips. He shuffled forward, hand able to reach out and rest on their bed. The touch lifted Ed’s eyes from the paper. His lips were parted, quivering as he exhaled slowly, belabored and tense. He pushed the papers from his lap, sitting up in bed. His legs pulled up under the blankets and folded under his body. Ed kneeled in bed, slowly crawling over to Oswald.

“Shall I repeat myself?” Ed’s words were not clearly heard but formed on his lips with delicacy.

“No. No, I understand.” Oswald nodded, his mouth slowly hung open as Edward’s hands slid over to grab his. “I-I couldn’t ask you to--”

“I should not have asked so much of you.” Ed could have been mistaken, speaking regretfully and treading Oswald’s feelings with care, but he spoke with certainty. “A system can be set in place. There are solutions.”

“But you were right--”

“I often am.” Ed interrupted. “But maybe not as much in this.” Ed’s hands ran over Oswald’s palms. His fingers left lingering patterns along his still hands. He furrowed his eyebrows and studied the sentences restrained in his trembling fingers. “I should… should have listened to you.”

“Considering _I can’t._ ” Oswald muttered, huffing out a faint laugh.

“Yes.” Ed returned the laugh, the air hot against Oswald’s lips. He didn’t remember them getting so close. “Because you can’t.” His fingers curled around his wrists tight and firm. Oswald flexed his fingers, testing Ed’s grip. He smiled.

“Ed. Might I have my hands back?” Oswald whispered. “I’d like to start now. Both of us.”

“Agreed.” Ed nodded. He tilted his head, peering at Oswald through darkening eyes, a smirking growing over his words. “But for right now,” Oswald felt Ed’s lips graze his ear. “You can hear me _just. fine_.” His words were slightly muffled in his left ear, but Ed’s words echoed through his body, his breath a slow shallow rattle. Ed made a quiet noise of satisfaction, his sly grin emerging in Oswald’s peripherals.

“Edward.” Oswald whimpered. He strained to turn and meet Ed’s lips; he kept pulling further away. Oswald jerked forward, trying to find contact and friction to compete with the cold grasp twisting his wrists together. Ed’s hands traded both Oswald’s hands into one of his own, able to easily restrain them between his slender but strong thumb and forefinger. His free hand toyed with Oswald’s tie, but pushed him back when he bucked forward. “Please.”

Ed’s hand lifted from him, Oswald whining from the lasting drags of his fingers over his chest. Ed turned his hand over, palm upward, and held it close to his own chest, slowly curling his fingers into a fist. The fist turned into a pointed finger that tapped against Ed’s chest.

Two silent words: _Trust. Me._

He shuddered, his hands tugging against Ed’s. He was being bound, his hands gagged from ever responding, He could only nod frantically, a moan curling in his throat. Ed’s lips pursed, hushing Oswald’s cries.

“No no no no.” His lips barely separated as he cooed at Oswald. The hand returned to Oswald’s tie and slowly dragged him onto the bed. He had no arms to brace himself, relying on Ed’s force and balance to guide him onto his knees.

Ed’s robe had loosened as he moved, revealing him to be only in a pair of silk pants. They weren’t of their normal regal metallic pattern. They were dark and paisley. Oswald tugged on Ed’s hands, trying to place a hand on his own chest-- _mine_.

Ed’s hand reached over and gently touched his chest, as if feeling Oswald’s racing, dizzying heartbeat: _yours_.

Oswald rushed forward, eager to meet Ed’s lips while he was busy trying to sign. Ed’s lips were already parted and Oswald swiped his tongue across his bottom lip, trying to overcompensate for the hands that would have been holding Ed’s face, dragging along his back, shoving off his robe, exposing his bare torso. Ed’s hand began working at the buttons Oswald was unable to unfasten. His fingers worked efficiently-- no doubt an exercise he had perfected in his spare time of sleeping alone; Ed could pop any button and slip off any belt faster than it took for Oswald to get on his knees.

“Fuck, you have so many buttons.” Ed huffed. His lips were pursed and he hadn’t intended for Oswald to see his sentence. Oswald laughed; even without his hands or speech, he was able to frazzle Ed. “You think this is funny?” He yanked firmly on Oswald’s wrists and pushed him down on his back. He gasped in embarrassing surprise, Ed twisting his wrists over head. His grip was almost _too_ tight for Oswald, the pain rippling down his arms. His jaw dropped open and every breath came out in short, pointed grunts. “Didn’t think so.”

Ed settled over him, one leg slowly swinging over Oswald. He bracketed his hips, resting himself over Oswald’s hardening cock. With irritating languidness, he released Oswald’s wrists to begin sliding his robe off his shoulders. Despite being free to move, Oswald remained captured and still, watching Ed run his hands over his own body. He knew how Oswald liked to touch him: gripping his waist, tight enough to leave white echoes of his fingers; hands running up to his neck, thumb and forefinger hesitating under his jaw, as if to start squeezing.

Ed leaned down, body finally pressing against Oswald’s, rocking hips _ever_ so slightly as he settled on him. His lips pressed against the shell of Oswald’s right ear. The words were lost to him, but Edward’s hot, heavy breath against his ear and wondering, rambling hands said enough.

Oswald’s right pointing finger bent, his wrist slowly bending up and down, hoping to get Ed’s attention despite his own disguised conversation.

 _Need_.

“I don’t think I know that one.” Ed lifted his head to bring his lips into view for Oswald. His one hand lifted to touch his temple-- _don’t know_. “Teach me.” He pushed himself off of Oswald to lie along his side. His leg remained over Oswald’s, pulling them close together and rubbing his cock on his hip. Ed lifted a careful hand to hover between them. He bent his finger, copying Oswald. “Is this it?” He nodded.

Ed’s hand slowly uttered the word over and over-- _need need need_ . He had no idea what he was saying, what he was _doing_ to Oswald. His hips bucked against the now-empty air as he pleaded with him.

“Please, Ed. Please.” His voice cracked as his hands uselessly grasped at Ed’s chest.

“Don’t beg-- tell me. What do you want?” Ed was on his left side, speaking softly but sternly into his ear. “Need what?” Oswald could only gasp-- Ed’s hands were back on his body, tugging at the spared buttons. His hand grazed mindlessly over Oswald’s stomach as if it were his own. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

“No--No, please.” Oswald didn’t have that kind of patience-- or self control.

“No?” Edward echoed. He hesitated, afraid Oswald had misread his lips, and his hand too occupied to elucidate. But Oswald was writhing, pushing into Ed’s hands, trying to steer the hand resting on his torso lower. “So should I just roll over and tuck myself in for the night?”

Oswald hands frantically tried to find his words, but they only clung to Ed’s instead. He fumbled with Ed’s fingers, folding, bending, lacing them together with his own. His hands were now Oswald’s, moving both sets at once. Ed spoke.

_Teach. Me._

Oswald brought Ed’s hands down to his belt immediately. He fumbled with the buckle while Ed’s hand hovered over his zipper, ready to join in undressing him. Oswald was all but whimpering at the grazing friction of the zipper. Ed moved it _far_ too slowly, enjoying the reveal. Eventually, both sets of hands were shoving Oswald's pants off the bed and joining back in a tangled mess.

He brought Ed’s hands up to his mouth, spitting on them hastily, wetting them very little with his drying mouth. Ed lifted his hands to spit on them himself before returning them to Oswald.

With Ed’s hands within his, guiding and slow, he placed Ed’s slim fingers around his aching and sensitive cock. He lead Ed at first, trying to get him to understand how _much_ he needed his touch, needed this reunion. After sleeping at his desk alone for the past few weeks, every pleasured twitch and tension contorting Ed’s smug expression gripped another tight hand around Oswald’s lungs.

“Is this what you needed?” He breathed in his ear, both hands occupied. “Is this it?”

Oswald dropped Ed’s hands to grab his face, pulling his lips back in to graze his own. Ed was twisting his wrist with every stroke, Oswald’s attempted spoken sentences becoming long whines before being cut off by Ed’s lips. They spoke again-- silently. Oswald’s hands worked through Ed’s hair, tugging, gripping, and scraping his scalp. He wanted to do far more with them-- plead and beg and worship in his new language; use Ed’s hands to speak to him on their own isolated level; be able to use them for more than groping-- to tell Ed he loved him too.

“Oswald,” he said, his face somehow tense and factual despite it occasionally going slack with a groan. “I want you to tell me if you need my hands. For speaking. Tell me.”

 _I’m fine_. Oswald managed, hand bumping against his chest weakly; energy was being monopolized by his self-enforced rule to not begin thrashing and moaning until Ed was closer. He liked when they lost control together.

“Am I doing good?” He asked slowly, words clear. “Am I learning okay?” He always enjoyed being praised like this. The predictability didn’t make it any less hot.

 _Good_ required two hands and Oswald was not about to lose a single stroke as he starting palming Ed through his pants. He nodded instead, quick and eager, his hands doing the same. Ed groaned, forehead falling to rest on Oswald’s shoulder before turning to pant against Oswald’s neck.

“Fuck-- _oh, fuck_. No no, a little longer.” Ed pleaded. Oswald assumed he was not meant to see him pleading with his own body. But his lips quivered in plain, beautiful view.

Oswald hissed out a quiet laugh, watching his eyes flutter shut, his jaw going slack and mouth dropping open obscenely. He was no doubt gasping and sighing too quietly for Oswald to hear. But at least he wasn’t speaking; he was only down to his hands. Just as Oswald wanted.

One of Ed’s hand was resting on Oswald’s lower stomach, fingers curing and scratching his bare skin. His fingers scrambled for words, his composure lost and pooling in his stomach. The hand on his stomach began moving in a small circle, as if soothing Oswald. His other hand still ran up and down Oswald’s hard cock, although shaking as Oswald quickened his pace over Ed’s leaking cock. The soothing hand remained, circling but _pleading_. It was a misplaced sign--

_Please. Please. Please. Please._

For reasons beyond Oswald’s understanding, he felt a rush of warmth flood his chest. Ed was begging, pleading, _breaking_ in Oswald’s preferred language. He was doing this for Oswald-- whether he’d admit it with his beautiful pink lips or not.

All language fell from their grasp as they clung and fumbled with each other. Oswald smoothed his strokes over Ed’s cock, still tucked away in his pants. Ed had burrowed his face into Oswald’s shoulder, mouth and eyes hidden. His breath slicked down Oswald shoulder, hot and damp. Oswald closed his eyes and leaned his head against Ed’s. White, building _heat_ curled in Oswald’s lower stomach. His toes followed suit. His entire body was reeling, Ed’s fast-working hand the only thing he had to ground himself as he writhed, eyes still closed.

Ed came loudly-- louder than usual. It was sudden and, for Oswald, shocking to be able to hear him so clearly. He rocked his hips and tried to drag out every last moment of friction Oswald’s hand and hip had to offer. His neck tensed and his head fell back. His back arched and his mouth fell open again-- as if it had ever _closed_ . He was keening and whimpering and _weeping._ And it was intoxicating. It was power. Ed’s hands had stopped, fingers splaying outward, like an electrical shock pulsed through him with every buck forward. His hands were frozen and his mouth rejected all words. He was stranded with only Oswald to hear him, to understand him. Maybe _this_ was all Oswald’s argument needed to force Ed’s eyes even with his own.

Oswald grabbed Ed’s face with both hands and pulled him close, their foreheads pressing together. He stared at Ed, watching his face slowly relax and his body to stop its near-convulsion against Oswald’s. They were half-lidded, drooping as he still tried to ride out his orgasm. His hands were the only thing still alive, quickly getting back to Oswald. Ed was shakier than before, his hand not as certain as it had started. He was still off somewhere, high and pleasured and convinced. He looked so lost, so vulnerable-- if only for the few moments he’d let himself be, with Oswald’s hands holding him, thumb stroking his cheek. His lips were only slightly parted, now only in concentration, trying to get Oswald to come faster.

The heat in Oswald’s stomach seemed to wade over itself like a wave. It kept building, pulling away-- near the fear of going away-- before pushing back and creeping further up the shore. It was like constantly tripping, his entire body tensing and jerking forward into the tight, slickness of Ed’s careful hand. His cheeks flushed and chest hollowed in a moment. Ed’s skin was warm and far too soft under his fingernails as he came. His fingers drug down Ed’s cheeks, trying to bring his hands down to speak-- but failing just in time.

His hands gripped Ed’s chest on their way down, half-hitting him with stuttering bewilderment: _yours yours yours._

Ed rolled onto his back, papers crumpling under him. He adjusted his glasses-- not having had enough or thought to remove them earlier. His eyes were still closed, his hands feeling around to find Oswald’s. They were unmoving at his sides and Ed tapped them lightly. Oswald flexed his wrist, alerting Ed he was listening. Watching, attentive, his.

 _The phones_ . Ed signed, eyes closed and breathing looking more like he was moments from sleep than returning to a business idea. _I will answer them_. He cracked a single eye open, looking for Oswald’s reaction. He could only laugh; both of them out of breath and in various degrees of undressed, discussing Ed’s employment. Well, it figured. It was how he got the job, one way or another. It would’ve been typical pillow talk if it wasn’t for Ed’s roundabout admission of his own misstep.

 _You understand_. Oswald answered.

 _You have proven yourself more than capable many times. Who am I to correct that_ ? Ed had surprisingly more ease stringing sentences together than Oswald did, even after a few secret months of studying. It occurred to Oswald, after having his head cleared, that Ed knew the sign for _need_ all along. He just wanted to fog Oswald’s mind as he panted in his ear. No complaints. It worked, just like their new system would.

 _How did you learn so quickly_? Oswald asked, his sentence unbalanced and flowing at an uneven pace.

 _You’re joking_ . Ed laughed. It was warm; Oswald could tell by the crinkle by his eyes. _I simply read a book, practiced in front of a mirror-- what else do I do_?

_Is that what you’ve been doing while I’ve been downstairs, asleep at my desk?_

_No_. Ed replied, his answer sharp. _I sat fuming about how stupid you were being._ Honesty was Ed’s main focus with Oswald. He hadn’t quite learned how to soften the blows. _I read the book two nights ago._ _After the audiologist called_.

 _I knew you wouldn’t give up that easily_ . Oswald turned his head and faced the ceiling again, Ed’s hands falling out of his line of sight. He closed his eyes as Ed sat up in bed, trying to continue. _Don’t use me like that_.

A hand jostled Oswald’s side, begging him to listen. It tapped him again. Again. It moved in a circle on his chest: _please_. Oswald stayed firm, growing increasingly more insulted.

“Oswald.” Ed said, leaning forward. “I still think you should get an aid for when we have meetings-- ambiance to know when people are entering your office or are close to you.” Oswald tried to turn his right ear to Ed but he put a hand out to stop Oswald’s head from turning, pushing his head down with his left ear exposed. Ed’s palm pressed against Oswald’s temple, fingers curling in his hair. “But I will always use sign language with you. Whenever you need it.” A compromise was rare. It was considerate. It was asking for forgiveness.

His eyes opened and met Ed’s staring down at him. Ed lifted his hand and released Oswald, now free to sit up and face his most difficult adversary. He knew exactly how to refuse Oswald, how to get him to beg and receded and agree and kneel and _whine_. He could fold Oswald into whatever shape he wanted, and they both knew it, but this went beyond feeling superior to Oswald. This was about fairness, about comfort and care.

It wasn’t very often Edward was that open and available for Oswald to see, but it couldn’t have happened anywhere else than their shared bedroom.

Oswald let the moment fade, their acknowledgement to the new commitment silent, before commenting again. _Thanks for ruining my good pair of sleeping pants_.

 _I’ve been sleeping in them since our initial dispute_. Ed was referring to the small spark that pushed Oswald’s desk chair in farther, trapping him in come midnight. The thought of Ed confronting him again was a great displeasure and heartbreak.

 _Did you_ **_ask_ ** _?_

 _I didn’t get anywhere in life by asking you for_ **_anything_ ** _._ Ed lifted an eyebrow. _I do believe the night after you gave me this job, it was_ **_you_ ** _who was begging_.

 _Enough_ . Oswald responded. _We enforce the policy tomorrow. We get the audiologist. We start getting you louder shoes._

 _I’ll make the call in the morning_. Ed nodded.

His hands folded over his stomach as he laid down, settling with agreement and satisfaction. He turned his head, lips facing Oswald, and smiled. They were still a light, lush pink. His lips framed his snarky, biting, _deep_ mouth like ribbon around a gift. Edward Nygma had a beautiful mouth-- and a delicate smile. Oswald was able to understand it without any straining. It was the loudest thing he could see.

**Author's Note:**

> Oswald is new to Deaf culture/ASL, so obviously what he and Ed do/say aren't representing the cultural norm. There will be more exploration into his new cultural identity in coming fics. If you all have questions about how things are changing for Oswald or even Ed, I love discussing it!
> 
> xoxo


End file.
